Milestone Moon
by forgottenparachutes
Summary: 'What does a city boy like him know about farming anyway' was the question on everyone's mind when they heard a stranger was about to take over that derelict farm. 'What does a city boy like me know about farming anyway' was the question on said stranger's mind as he held the farm deed in his hands. This is the story of HM: FoMT. This is Milestone Moon.
1. The Old Man

**Disclaimer:** Don't own Harvest Moon. Want to, but don't. Also, certain dialogue belongs to Harvest Moon and Natsume.

**A/N**: I'm really excited about this starting this story, because I adore Harvest Moon and I think it has so much fanfiction potential. All the canon characters I'm using are from Harvest Moon: Friends of Mineral Town (or More Friends of Mineral Town, if you like), and what's more, throughout the story I'll be weaving in character dialogue from the game itself to give it a different feel. If I'm doing this right, I want to make you feel as though this IS the story in the game we've all been playing. Whoohoo! That's about it for now. Enjoy the first chapter and reviews are lovely.

**Chapter 1: The Old Man**

Some of us are familiar with this story perhaps. It has been retold many times in many different ways. But they all start out the same – it starts with a lost little boy.

* * *

The year was 1963.

Max turned six years old that spring. He was a regular city boy, who loved ice creams and spent all his pocket money at the arcade. His parents dotted on him - for Max was an only child, and it had to be said that he became a little spoilt. But not long after his birthday, Max fell sick. He coughed uncontrollably, coughs that took the wind out of him and kept him awake throughout the night. Within a week he was grumpy and tired - a bad combination for a child. He refused his medicine (too bitter!), and whined when his mother wouldn't let him have chocolate. By the time he was well, Max was frightfully pale and his parents were worn out. The family doctor, an old friend of Max's dad, suggested the family take a vacation away from the city. "Country air is what your family needs right now, Tony. Fresh air and good food."

At the start of summer, Max found himself in Mineral Town, a settlement surrounded by mountains on one side and the sea on the other. Max couldn't honestly say he was impressed by what he saw. But he couldn't be blamed, he was never taught to appreciate or experience nature. The only natural thing about Max's childhood so far was the fat goldfish he received two years ago for his birthday. But then he overfed the little thing one morning and found it floating pathetically in its bowl on the same evening. "I just thought Sammy looked hungry, Mom!"

While his parents checked in at the inn, Max stood behind the counter, eyeing the innkeeper warily. He felt a little intimidated by the big man with the flaming red hair and moustache. Doug had a booming voice and laughed a little too loudly, and everyone he knew thought he was a cheerful and perfectly wonderful person to be around, but Max only wanted to hide behind his mother and hold her hand. Suddenly there was an awful commotion and Max turned to see a little girl bound down the stairs. Her short hair (hopelessly messy) was the same shade of red as Doug's, and she was dressed rather like a boy, Max thought.

"Ann, what did I tell you about jumping down the stairs like that?" But he was grinning.

"This must be your daughter!" Max's mother, Beth exclaimed.

"Say hello, Ann. These are our new guests."

"Hello!" Ann chirped. She then turned to her father and tugged at his sleeve. "Daddy, Mommy wants to know when you're going to fix the light in Mr. Tucker's room." Before she retreated upstairs again, she stuck her tongue out at Max and grinned mischievously.

Max didn't quite know what to make of Ann. But he was a little relieved there were other children around. At least he wouldn't be bored. After Doug and Max's dad brought all their luggage upstairs, Max was ordered to freshen up before they began exploring the town. Right before they left their room, Beth fretted with the state of his face and began scrubbing his cheek with a wet handkerchief. "Goodness me! I thought I told you to wash your face, Max!"

"I did, Mooooom," Max groaned as he tried to push her away. Beth only scrubbed harder.

* * *

It was the Robbins family's second day in Mineral Town. It was still dark out when Max woke up. The darkness made his skin crawl. It was a quiet kind of darkness. In the city, even after he had turned off his bedside lamp, he could still make out the outline of his closet in the corner, and his football under the chair. He only had to look out the window to see all the colourful city lights emanating from the streetlamps, billboards and buildings. And he knew that after he fell asleep, the city would still be full of life. Night shift workers went about their business, cars still zoomed noisily on highways. Here, he couldn't even see his fingers, even though he had raised them up in front of his face. And he knew that everyone else in the small town was still deep in slumber. It was a quiet kind of darkness.

Max pulled on a fresh shirt and shorts which his mother had laid out on a chair yesterday night and groped around for his shoes, which he had unceremoniously kicked under his bed. He slung his backpack on as an afterthought. The backpack was Max's most cherished possession. It had a Power Rangers logo on the front which Max would faithfully look at before he went to bed every night. But Max didn't really have anything worthwhile to put in his bag, except for a Red Ranger figurine and a pack of tissues his mother made him carry.

He slipped out of the room. He rather felt than saw his way along the hallway. Soon he was pulling the heavy front door open. The morning air was cool against his skin, but it would slowly become warmer as the sun came out. By mid-afternoon, the air would be hot and stuffy, and people's thoughts would turn to the lake or the sea. Six year old Max looked up at the sky. There were still stars out. He walked past the winery and turned left at the T-junction. He hadn't he slightest clue where he was going, but he was determined to explore the place on his own. I won't get lost in such a small boring town anyway, he reasoned with himself.

Half an hour later, in addition to being hungry and tired, Max was quite lost. At one point he found himself in a huge square, but it was deserted at that hour and Max didn't feel like walking across it on his own. He tried to retrace his steps and passed two big farms for the second time, but he couldn't seem to figure out which road led back to the inn. Everything looked different at five in the morning, not that Max knew the time. He walked on blindly and wondered why his parents were not looking for him. Perhaps it was still too early. Panic rose in his stomach, he hoped he didn't have to stay outside for too long. Max was trying not to cry. He hadn't cried properly since he was five – the time he fell down and cut his knee on a sharp rock last year didn't count, it was a very painful cut after all.

Exploring wasn't that fun when it was so dark out, Max admitted. He longed for the city, where everything felt familiar and safe. He could always count on the familiar hum of his ceiling fan as its blades whirled around lazily or the barks of stray dogs on the road outside his house. Here there was just a quiet kind of darkness.

* * *

There was a road sign. Max realised there was a road sign ahead of him. There was just enough of light now to make out the words.

v Honey Tree Farm

The words were simple enough for Max to understand. He liked honey. Perhaps this farm made honey. He looked at the path which led towards Honey Tree Farm. It looked unassuming enough for a lost six year old. Max soon found himself at the entrance of the farm. There was an old man crouched down, petting a big dog lovingly. The dog, smelling Max's presence, looked around and barked. The bark sent Max over the edge. Hungry, tired, lost and now very much scared, tears started to leak out. The old man was startled to see a little boy crying on his farm.

"Stay, Winnie. Hey, young man. Why are you crying? Did you get lost?"

Max was not in shape to answer his questions. His breath came in short little gasps as he tried to hold back his tears. He sniffed into his sleeve. The old man approached him and eyed him doubtfully.

"What's this? Is that your phone number on your bag?"

Max stopped crying long enough to take a look at the tag sticking out on the left side of his bag. When did that get there? His mother must have put that there. He recognized the number as his father's.

"Let's call your parents," The old man said and smiled at Max kindly. He patted Max on the head and led him to the house. "Would you like some hot milk? The milk is fresh from my cow Tulip, you know. Come along, Winnie. And play nice."

Back at the inn, Max's parents had finally woken up.

"Hey Max, want to go fishing today?" Tony called from his side of bed he shared with his wife.

"Max?" Beth had noticed her son's empty bed. She glanced around the room and realised she and her husband were its only occupants. "Oh dear! I can't find Max!"

"What…"

* * *

Max was sitting on one of the two chairs in the old man's small house. He was happily sipping hot milk – fresh milk heated up on the stove with a little sprinkle of sugar and munching on butter cookies which the old man had managed to find in an old cookie jar tucked away in the pantry. The old man, who at first seemed uncomfortable in the presence of such a young child, was now excitedly showing him photographs of his prized farm animals. There was Winnie the dog, who wasn't so scary now, Max thought as he stroked her velvety ears fondly. And there was Tulip the cow and the many chickens that greedily pecked at worms in the yard. Max thought it was a little funny to take pictures with animals instead of people, but his young mind accepted it quite readily.

Half an hour later his anxious parents had arrived to collect him, all the while apologizing profusely to the old man. The old man, who was known around Mineral Town as Old Man George, invited them in. Beth picked her son up, gave his ear a sharp little tweak but covered his face with kisses all the time. For once, Max didn't put up a fuss. He leaned his head on his mother's shoulder as the adults began to talk. After awhile his attention drifted away, and he squirmed out of Beth's embrace. He sat down next to Winnie on the floor. He loved how her glossy fur seemed to ripple under the light whenever he stroked it, and he loved how warm she was.

"… In that case, why not come spend a few days on my farm?"

Max looked up at old man as he said this. Tony scratched his nose as he mulled the idea over. "You really mean it?"

"Sure! I live alone, so you wouldn't bother anybody. I'd love the company."

"Isn't this great, Max?" Beth smiled warmly at her son.

But Max didn't have to say anything. He didn't need to – his shining eyes said it all.

* * *

The next few days passed in a kind of hazy blur. Later on in life, certain moments would stand out in Max's memory when he least expected it – when he was weeding the field; when he was doing grocery shopping in the supermarket; when he was trying to get his daughter to fall asleep.

At half past four in the morning, Old Man George would gently shake Max awake. While Old Man George breakfasted on his customary coffee and plain bread, Max made do with hot milk and buttered toast. Then he'd take Max around the farm as he did his chores. Max was thoroughly fascinated by everything, and he was soon eager to help. "That Olive! Always hiding her eggs in the strangest places. D'you think you could find them for me, Max?" And so it became that Max became Old Man George's youngest farmhand.

In the afternoon, Old Man George took refuge in the cool of his house. While he rested, Max was free to do whatever he liked.

On this particular day, his parents were out at the beach, but Max had already gone fishing on the dock yesterday and hungered for some other adventure. After playing fetch with Winnie for several minutes, the six year old was utterly bored. He mischievously considered waking Old Man George who was like a magician really, the way he always managed to provide some form of entertainment for Max. But didn't Old Man George say something about the mountains? Max's mother was doubtful, as she heard from some of the other townsfolk that it wasn't very safe, but Old Man George said that as long Max promised to stay on the main path, he would be perfectly fine. With this idea firmly stuck in his mind, the little boy decided to investigate the mountains, because his name wasn't Max, it was Inspector Robbins: The Finest Inspector There Ever Was.

Mother's Hill took Max's breath away. He had never seen trees that grew so tall (or wide), and he was mildly surprised to see a small fox skulking behind some shrubbery. In the distance he saw a small wooden hut, but curious as he was, Max knew better than to stray from the path. After some fifteen minutes his feet started to ache, and his throat was itching for some water. His cotton shirt clung uncomfortably to his back. Soon he came upon a lake. Its calm surface sparkled prettily under the sun and it looked blue as the sky. Rushing forward, Max scooped some water and brought it to his lips. It was the most delicious water he had ever tasted. Everything tasted better on an adventure, Max reasoned. He wondered why the water didn't look so blue in his hands. He would have to ask Dad later.

Max wiped his hands on his shorts and continued on his way. After some time, he arrived at a wooden bridge. The stream gushed noisily below it, but Max wasn't afraid at all. Stepping lightly across it, he saw a pretty field of flowers ahead. Proud that he had found this place all by himself, he decided this would be his secret place. Finding a comfortable spot, Max proceeded to lie down.

He didn't realise he had dozed off until he heard a voice next to him. Opening his eyes, he saw a girl's head peering over his.

"Hey."

Max scrambled up. He rubbed his eyes and stared at the girl. "You're not Ann," He mumbled.

The girl cocked her head to one side and rubbed her chin. "You were so quiet that I thought you were dead! This is perfect, I was looking for someone to play together. I guess you'll do."

Max desperately hoped she didn't want to play with dolls – all his girl cousins did. But this girl wore a dress and had pigtails, and all his girl cousins had those too.

"It's no fun if you just sit there and say nothing! Why don't you tell me about yourself? I'm a witch, and I'm picking frog's tongues for my potion. You can help me," She said brightly.

This statement rather stunned Max. After a moment, he introduced himself as Inspector Robbins: The Finest Inspector There Ever Was. The witch-girl seemed perfectly happy with this arrangement. She bounced off to another part of the field and squatted down in the middle of a patch of white flowers. "Oi, here!"

Max made to follow her. Standing behind her, he watched as she unceremoniously plucked off flower petals from the delicate-looking plants. "These are frog's tongues. They make mean people turn green and hop around like frogs. But you don't look mean, so it's okay." She added after surveying him for a moment. Inspector Robbins crouched down beside her and grinned.

"Now," the witch-girl said once she was satisfied with the amount of frog's tongues they had collected. "We need to find a cicada."

"Do you know how to catch one?" Max asked curiously.

The witch-girl didn't seem to hear his question. "I think cicadas live on trees. So we should climb some trees."

Max wasn't all too familiar with tree-climbing, the city never presented such an opportunity to him. But he wasn't about to admit that to his new friend. "Maybe we can find some there." He pointed at an unassuming bush under a cedar tree.

"Nope, it's got to be a tree."

* * *

On the Robbins' last day on the farm, Old Man George woke up with a heavy feeling in his heart. All these years on the farm, he had never wanted a family. He was happy raising his crops and farm animals. A family complicated things. But now that he had one living under his roof, he discovered how much he had missed out on. Old Man George loved this family as his own, loved the little boy Max as a grandfather would a grandson. Max was lively and inquisitive, and never failed to amuse the arthritis-suffering old man. Old Man George laughed more in ten days than he did in ten years.

Years and years of solitude.

The townspeople visited him occasionally, but most of his friends were either dying or dead. The young folk didn't care much for Old Man George. And once he was too weak to work the farm, the people of Mineral Town would turn to other farms for their fresh produce and Old Man George would be forgotten.

Sighing, he got up and dressed himself. He then shook Max awake. He promised to make him a special breakfast today. Max yawned and rubbed his eyes. He seemed to understand what an important day today was. At any rate, he was more somber than he usually was. It was funny seeing such a serious expression on a six year old's face.

Soon, pancakes were sizzling on the frying pan. There was hot milk and a big jar of honey on the table. Max sat on his favourite chair, chewing a fingernail thoughtfully. Old Man George placed a stack of pancakes on the table and sat down opposite Max.

"George?"

"Yes Max?" He smiled as he scooped a generous amount of honey onto Max's pancakes.

"D'you think Mom and Dad will let me stay here with you? I don't want to go back," Max said miserably.

D'you. Already Max was starting to talk like him. It was quite endearing really. Old Man George shook his head. "We both know that's not going to happen, Max. Eat up. We still have chores to do."

"But they could come visit in the summer!"

"Oh Max."

Those two words ended their breakfast conversation. Max did his chore without much enthusiasm. The hens, seemingly reading his emotion, clucked mournfully in the coop. He spent the day playing chase and fetch with Winnie. When he returned to the house in the evening he smelled badly of sweat and dirt, so much that Beth forced him to take a bath. Max was half tempted to go to sleep without drying his hair properly. Hopefully he would get a fever the next morning and then they'd have to stay until he got well. That would show them, hah! But when he climbed out of the bathtub, he saw his mother walk towards him, a big towel in hand. So much for having a plan.

* * *

Max stood outside the house the next morning, resignation etched all over his face. He had finally come to terms with his departure from Honey Tree Farm. His parents walked out of the house with Old Man George. Beth embraced the old man briefly before standing aside. Turning to Max, Old Man George managed a big smile. Well, he had to look brave for the child.

"Well, you have to go now. Farewell!" He said a little too cheerfully. After a pause: "Is there any chance of you writing an old man a letter once in awhile?" Max, incapable of speech (he was worried he might cry), nodded vigorously. "Really? Here's my address, then." He handed a small piece of paper to Max. The boy held it in his hand tightly.

At the sound of footsteps, everyone glanced at the farm entrance. A small girl stood before them, panting slightly. The witch-girl!

"You're leaving already?" She asked. "But we haven't finished the frog potion! If you go, I'll be bored and lonely again… You HAVE to come back, okay?"

Old Man George grinned. "Looks like you've made a friend! Just one more reason to return, I guess."

"We have to go, Max," Beth called softly.

Max nodded. He hesitated for a couple of seconds, but then ran forward to hug the old man. "I'll be waiting for your letter. Goodbye, Max."


	2. Waiting For Max Robbins

**Disclaimer:** Sadly no, Harvest Moon doesn't belong to me. Also, certain dialogue belongs to Harvest Moon: FoMT and Natsume.

**A/N:** Here's Chapter 2! Hope you like the story so far. :3 Reviews are awesome like marshmallows in hot chocolate.

* * *

**Chapter 2: Waiting For Max Robbins**

The year was 1973.

Old Man George woke up at half past four, as he always did. He got dressed and fumbled around for his walking cane. He hobbled to the window and peered through it at the sky outside. The same mixture of the darkest blue and grey, Old Man George knew the colour by heart, the familiarity comforted him. At least some things didn't change, he mused as he shuffled towards the kitchen. He put the kettle on and sat down and waited. His joints were stiff, and he slapped the back of his neck to ease the nagging pain that was bothering him. Whenever his arthritis flared up, Old Man George became grumpier than usual. There used to be a time when he could lift three sacks of potatoes at once, but now he had trouble trying to keep the kettle steady as he poured hot water into his coffee mug. He was a young soul trapped in the body of a doddering old fool! As he sipped at his morning drink, his eyes wandered to the stack of letters lying on his bedside table and he wondered how the boy was doing. Well, hardly a boy anymore. Max would be… sixteen or seventeen this year. Old Man George sighed. The little boy had become a man, and he was… a very old man. A doddering old fool.

He left his mug in the sink and shuffled outside. The farmer's body may be wearing out, but that didn't mean he didn't have to work anymore. He swung open the barn door and breathed in the sweet-smelling hay that was stacked against the wall. Then there was the distinct animal smell. The only living thing that was responsible for the smell was lazily drinking water from the trough.

"Good morning, Tulip," Old Man George cooed as he heaped some fresh hay into the cow's feed box. He took an old brush hanging on the wall by a string and started to brush Tulip down. The cowed mooed.

This wasn't the same Tulip the little boy Max Robbins rode on all those years ago. This was a younger Tulip, but Old Man George called all his cows Tulip for convenience's sake. An old man like him couldn't be bothered with names. It was hard enough trying to remember what day of the week it was. Tulip swished her tail playfully as Old Man George sat down on a stool on Tulip's left side. "Stop that, silly girl. I'm trying to milk you!" He reached for the milk pail.

A small mewing sound distracted the old farmer. A grey kitten, the size of Old Man George's hand came up to him and clawed at his shoes. "Good morning to you too, kitty." The kitten had been found by him two months earlier down by the fishpond. The kitten, a stray, had been trying to take a drink when it fell in. Old Man George rescued it and took it in. Normally Old Man George avoided cats. He was a dog-lover, but ever since his Winnie died (bless her little doggie soul) he felt more lonely than he would admit.

The kitten followed Old Man George out of the barn, or more likely, the pail of fresh milk he held in his hands. He set the pail inside his house and after making sure the kitten had her share to drink, man and feline walked towards the field, where the farmer still maintained a small crop of turnips. There wasn't much left to do on the farm. He had sold the horse four years ago, and his vegetable patch grew to a large extent smaller over the years. He still owned several chickens, but they were very good at taking care of themselves.

The turnips were doing well. In a couple of days they would be ripe for picking. He made a mental note to pay the Harvest Sprites a visit. The fun-loving creatures would be more than happy to lend a hand, in exchange for some packets for flour. What those little imps did with so much flour was beyond Old Man George, but he had heard that the Harvest Sprites liked cooking and throwing parties, so maybe they were just glad they didn't have to spend money buying groceries.

There was a cough behind him. Old Man George turned around and saw a man looking expectantly at him. He surveyed the stranger and decided he didn't trust him. Anyone who snuck up on an old man wasn't to be trusted anyway. He was heavily-built, had short brown hair and a thin moustache. One half of a small blue towel stuck out from his pants pocket. He looked extremely familiar.

"What d'you want?" Old Man George narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "I'm not selling my land."

The man shook his head. "George, it's me, Zack. You know, live on the beach, in charge of shipments. Been working with you for years," Zack said with a worried look on his face.

"Wha- Zack? Where's your beard?" Old Man George pointed his walking cane at Zack. "That was a fine beard."

The man grinned and touched his bare chin. All that was left of his facial hair was a thin moustache. "Heh heh. Lillia said I looked too much like a ruffian."

"D'you have anything for me?" Old Man George looked at the envelope in Zack's hand.

"Oh yeah, this just came in this morning. Thought you'd want to read it straight away."

"Thanks, thanks."

"I'll be off now. I'll be back in the evening for collection, eh?"

"You'll have your eggs and milk by five," Old Man George muttered absentmindedly as he waved his cane in Zack's direction. He was staring intently at the envelope.

Zack's eyes lingered on the farmer's stooped form for a few more moments. He was concerned for Old Man George, who didn't have any family and very little friends. He wanted to help him, but the old man abhorred sympathy. Lillia would know what to do. What that comforting thought, Zack left Old Man George to read his letter in peace.

* * *

_Dear George,_

_I wish I could stay in Mineral Town for the summer. But Dad has arranged for me to visit Mom and Fred. Dad says I should spend more time with Mom since I'm her only son and she misses me, but I think it is weird spending the holidays with Mom and her new husband. It's been three years since Mom and Dad got divorced. Fred is nice enough, but he is obsessed with cars and keeps talking to me about engines and gearboxes. Personally, I prefer trains, or just walking if I can help it._

_I'll be finishing school soon and maybe after that I'll come and visit you. I sure miss the farm. Dad wants me to go to business or law school, he says that's about the only things worth learning in college. I'm not too sure I'm the college type though. High school is hard enough._

_Anyway, how are things on your end? The Cow Festival is coming up, isn't it? You should enter Tulip. We both know all cows from Honey Tree Farm stand a good chance of winning. Tell me how it goes. _

_I have baseball practice in an hour, so I should prepare for that. _

_Love, _

_Max._

Although he had only received the letter two hours ago, Old Man George had read it so many times and clutched it so tightly that the paper was badly crumpled in several places. For the past ten years Max had written letters to him detailing every aspect of his life, while Old Man George usually wrote about the changes in Mineral Town and Mother's Hill.

_The blue magic grass has finally bloomed in the field on the mountains,_ he wrote one autumn. _Personally I've never liked flowers much, but Sasha brought me a bouquet yesterday and I must say they look quite nice. I suppose The Harvest Goddess makes magic grass especially pretty because they're the last flowers of the year. Someone in town said they spotted the Kappa on Mother's Hill, but I don't believe it. Surely the Kappa has better things to do than wander around the mountains. Tulip is not doing so well, I think I may have to put her to sleep and get a new cow. Don't want her to suffer more than she should. I am thinking of burying her in that spot between the barn and stable. She deserves somewhere nice, and Tulip would want to stay on the farm, even after she's gone. Study hard, Max. And come visit soon. _

Summer came and went and there was no sign of Max Robbins. Autumn brought chilling winds and Old Man George wore a thick woolen jacket as he harvested his sweet potatoes. The Harvest Sprites were warming their tiny hands by the big bonfire he had started earlier. He set aside a few tubers that were not good enough for shipping, but definitely good enough for seven shivering sprites and one old man. He picked the last of the sweet potatoes and placed them at the very top of the mounting pile in his harvesting basket. Gripping the large basket firmly, Old Man George tried to hoist it up his shoulder as he always did. But he felt his back muscles tauten and his knees started shaking uncontrollably. Cursing under his breath, he hollered for the imps to come over. Together, they managed to drag the rattan-woven basket to the shipping bin. Zack would collect it in the evening and the pay Old Man George got in return would be enough to get him through the winter. He stoked the fire and dropped the sweet potatoes on some burning twigs. The imps' chatter became a small buzzing voice at the back of his head as he stared into oblivion.

* * *

The year was 1977.

Old Man George received seven letters that year, each with a different address on it. Max Robbins had graduated from high school, but did not go to business or law school as his father intended. Instead the young man took up a vagabond's life, always in a new city every other week or so and earning money as he moved around.

His latest letter arrived just before winter. Max was in some city called Cherrygrove, he was waiting tables temporarily. The pay was good and he hoped to be in the city for the winter. Old Man George would not admit it to Max, but he was very worried about him. That wasn't how a young man should live, always wondering when he would get his next meal or a good place to sleep. From what he could tell, Max hadn't contacted his parents in months and preferred it that way. _I'm really enjoying this, George. It's a little tough, but it's supposed to be like that. Don't worry, Mom and Dad already worry enough for me. I've stopped calling them because they just keep trying to talk me into going home. I'll be staying in this city for awhile, so you can keep writing to this address. As usual, I'll write you before I leave so you'll know to stop sending letters and I'll write again when I've found somewhere new to settle down. Love, Max. _

* * *

The year was 1978.

Old Man George felt it in his bones. It was almost time for him. He still hobbled around his farm, but he stopped working. Tulip was sold in the spring, and the field was slowly being taken over by weeds. Rick would be here next week to collect the chickens. His only solace was the grey cat that slept on his knees every night.

Summer came and went, and Old Man George sat by the table, staring at the open door. Waiting, waiting for Max Robbins to come visit soon.

* * *

The year was 1979.

A young man walked down the red cobblestone street, his eyes full of interest of his surroundings. He had been here before years ago, but the place had changed so much. There were a couple new buildings, and many of the old ones had a new coat of paint on them. And there was a festive air about the place, it was New Year's Day after all. A group of middle-aged ladies eyed him curiously as they walked towards in his direction but lost interest as soon as they had passed them. A tourist – there were a lot of them these days, one of them whispered as they headed to the town square.

He came across an all too familiar building. The inn. Of course, this was the place, and this was the road, where everything started. He picked up his pace, made a left at the T-junction and kept on going straight until he arrived at the farm entrance. The sign painted with the words Honey Tree Farm in blue was lying on the dusty ground, stained and faded in places. The young man furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Stepping across the wooden board, he entered the farm land.

The sight that greeted his eyes made his stomach lurch most uncomfortably. The field was overrun with weeds, and sticks and stones scattered the area. There was a lump in his throat as he slowly moved towards the old farmhouse. But the door was locked. Since when did Old Man George lock his doors?

For this young man was Max Robbins who had finally come to visit his old friend Old Man George. As he stood on the edge of the field, someone short and dressed in red came bustling forward.

"Hey! The owner of this farm died a while back. You can't just come waltzing in here!"

Died? Max refused to believe it. "You mean Old Man George is… d-dead?"

"What? You knew him?" The short man registered the use of the old man's moniker. He paused, staring up at the young man's shocked face. "And you didn't know that he had died…?"

"No, I didn't! Wh-when did this happen?"

"He died about… Oh, six months ago, I reckon. When I was cleaning out his place I found his will. In it, he said _'I'm leaving my farm to Maxwell Robbins.'_" Max flinched slightly. He hadn't heard anyone call him by his full name since he was in kindergarten. "So until whoever that is shows up, I'm taking care of the farm." From his expression Max could tell the man wasn't too happy about this arrangement. He looked as though he didn't know the first thing about farming.

"Well, I'm Maxwell Robbins."

* * *

The short man was Thomas, the town mayor. He wanted to know how Max knew Old Man George. Then he asked if Max wanted to take over the farm.

Max wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel. He had just inherited a big plot of land from someone Max thought was still alive until about six minutes ago. He had only stopped by in Mineral Town to pay the old man a visit because he stopped receiving letters from him and wanted to make sure he was alright. But he wasn't alright, he was dead. _Old Man George was dead._

_How did he die? Where was he when he died? Was he alone?_ Questions flooded Max's head.

"Well, what do you think?" Thomas was pressing him for an answer.

Max wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. _Why did George even leave him the farm?_ Like Thomas, he didn't know to manage a farm. Max was sure he didn't have what it takes. He would say no and return to the city. It was the start of a new year, so it wouldn't be too hard to find a new job. Maybe he could wait more tables. It was the logical thing to do.

But his thoughts kept straying to the old man. Old Man George had been his best friend all these years. If he left Max the farm, then shouldn't Max try his best to honour the man's last wish? He didn't have any family to leave the farm to, after all. And then he wondered what would happen to the farm if he didn't want it. The last thing he wanted was some idiot on a bulldozer to come and destroy the place. The place the Old Man George called home his whole life. Old Man George's memory needed to be preserved.

And of course, it made sense that Old Man George should pass the farm over to Max. The farmer didn't approve of Max's vagrant lifestyle. He obviously wanted Max to settle down somewhere, and what better place than the farm on which he spent his best summer ever.

Thomas was looking at him expectantly.

"I suppose… I suppose that would be the best thing to do."

"Great!" He clapped his hands joyously. "From here on out this place is yours!"

The words echoed in Max's head. He stared out into the vast stretch of land. From here on out this place is… _mine_. What had he gotten himself into?

Thomas seemed to read his mind. "It won't be easy, but if you try hard you can do a job to make him proud."

Max nodded. That was the basic idea, wasn't it? He would do this for George.

"Well, you should get settled in right away. I'll bring by the deed and other things tomorrow morning, but today just enjoy yourself, it's New Year's Day after all! There's a festival at Rose Square, and you can-" Thomas noticed Max's somewhat vacant expression. "But you must have had a long journey coming here," He said in a softer tone. "I'll announce the good news to everyone, but we'll understand if you don't want to join us just yet. You can meet the townsfolk later on. You'll need these."

Max reached for the keys. After waving Thomas goodbye, he shut himself in the farmhouse for the rest of the day.

At 2.00 pm he paced the length of the house, all the while muttering incoherently to himself. His left hand was balled into a fist, and his right hand clenched it furiously. Somehow, somehow he felt tricked. He was tricked into coming here with only 500G in his bag and he was tricked into accepting all this. Mayor Thomas had no right, Old Man George had no right!

At 3.21 pm he was curled up on the bed, repeating _Old Man George is dead_ in his head.

At 5.48 pm he turned on the television. It was an older model from a few years ago, Max guessed it was one of the last things Old Man George ever bought. The news reminded viewers that the festival in Rose Square started at 6 pm and lasted throughout the night, but Mayor Thomas was right, Max didn't feel up to socializing right now. The weather forecast channel showed that tomorrow would be a fair day. There was a show called Life on the Farm and a strange New Year show where the guests were pounding rice cakes enthusiastically. The host didn't seem to have many things to say, at any rate, the pounding drowned out his hoarse voice. Max switched off the TV.

At 7.07 pm, he was fast asleep on the bed.

* * *

The next morning, Max woke up at six in the morning. Eleven hours of sleep later, he was feeling much better about everything. He took a good look at the interior of the house. Someone had rearranged some of the furniture, and the stove was missing. He breakfasted on some stale bread that he found in his backpack and left the house not a moment too soon.

He spotted Mayor Thomas walking briskly down the path. He sidestepped the fallen sign and stood before Max. "Good morning, Max. I trust you had a good sleep? I suppose the house needs some work done on it…"

"It's fine," Max said and smiled. He had to try and be nice to everyone in town now. He was the new kid, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that. To be honest, he wasn't sure about most things lately.

"Here is the deed. And some documents for you to sign."

An hour later, with an old Pedometer clutched in his right hand, Max watched the retreating form of Mayor Thomas. He didn't have five minutes to himself before someone else came bustling down the path. This visitor was a tall and burly man.

"The name's Zack. I'm in charge of shipping for Mineral Town," The man said, all business-like. Once he explained the shipment details to Max, he loosened up a little and flashed a wide smile at him. "Work hard now, but not too hard! And remember, 5 pm every day!" He called out as he walked away.

Max stood at the edge of the field for several minutes, making sure no visitors were running down the lane to meet him. Mayor Thomas gave him the idea of gathering things from the mountain to sell. It was a good way to earn some quick money so that he could buy crop seeds later on. The next thing Max had to do was decide what he actually wanted to do. Clearing the field seemed like a good idea – Thomas mentioned there were some of Old Man George's tools in the toolbox inside the house. Of course, the polite and right thing to do was to go into town and introduce himself to everyone. Pocketing the Pedometer, he entered the house to take a bath. He could barely remember the last time he had a good soak in the tub. Was it yesterday morning?

...


End file.
